


like the memories i forgot i had.

by exquisitedeadguy



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: AND HEY I HAVE A HUGE SOFT SPOT FOR MASTERMIND OKAY, Angst with a Happy Ending, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Post-Canon, Spoilers for Season 4, and so does elliot, both of them need each other, but everything comes to a head here, i am simply sitting here, i want them to BOND DAMNIT!, mr. robot wants to be listened to, recovering together, they're both just too stubborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:33:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23784760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exquisitedeadguy/pseuds/exquisitedeadguy
Summary: it is exhausting.i told him i just wanted to be alone- i lied. maybe i didn't know i was lying, but it doesn't make what i said any more true.i don't know if i am real but i don't know if that matters anymore.i just wish i could tell him i'm sorry.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson & Mr. Robot
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	like the memories i forgot i had.

**Author's Note:**

> hey folks are you ready for some HEALTHY SYSTEM COPING
> 
> i think the most important relationship in the show is the bond of trust, care, and respect between elliot and mr. robot. not in a romantic way; i severely don't fly with that shit- but it's desperately important all the same. 
> 
> i'm here to single-handedly give myself the content everyone else was too cowardly to give me, lmao. 
> 
> please enjoy! 
> 
> please do note- 
> 
> 1- the end scene where all of the alters integrate? this fic does not include that. as somebody who is part of a system, i understand that this was a fuckin solid narrative choice, but integrating like that in that moment would be literally the worst possible move for elliot's mental health moving forward, so it's adjusting around that! just figured i should mention that lol
> 
> 2- i have a headcanon based system layout for elliot; it doesn't quite make sense to me that mastermind is such a young alter yet has so much control as well as so many base elements of elliot. again, as somebody with dissociative identity disorder myself, i'm basing this off a lot of my own experiences, and have shifted it slightly so that i can write a more connected compelling conclusion in my personal universe. of course, every system is different; this is just more of a reflection of mine! 
> 
> 3- this ain't beta read, lol. i slammed this out in about an hour and a half at 3:30-5 in the morning to make myself feel better after a hell of an episode, lmao!

deep breaths. that's what i imagine you would tell me if you were here. 

i've been discharged from the hospital now. i still don't know if i'm going to be okay, but that's less to do with my injuries and more to do with everything else. 

i remember everything, now. i understand things, i understand myself- finally i can see the pieces for what they are. like before; i was doing a jigsaw puzzle upside-down, a fool's errand, matching edges and corners but unable to build the full picture. now i get it. it hurts, and some nights i wish i didn't, but i do. it's for the better, i know that. 

somehow, for some reason, i'm still here- maybe i'm not completely me anymore. maybe the rest of them couldn't overthrow me, or maybe they tried and it didn't work, and i just don't remember. either way- i think they got it wrong. i feel like i've been here for ages. this is as much my body as his, if he's even himself, if he's even the REAL elliot. i don't think the real elliot exists. 

he's a fucking fantasy, a fairytale to push me away, to keep us in line- the real elliot died when he fell out of that window. there is no real elliot, and there is no original, there is nobody else, there is only me. they cannot take my sense of self from me. 

you know it's not working. i can tell myself these half-truths and white lies all i like but there's no way to convince myself i'm real. 

i've been sitting in this room for what feels like weeks. darlene's called a few times, but she's given up for the moment, i think. i feel bad about that; i love her, i really do. but she knows i'm not him, if he even still exists anymore. that version in there, in that spider's web loop, he was barely a shell- who is elliot alderson if not angry and screaming and full of pain? who is he if not shouting for an explanation from god or the closest things to it? who the FUCK is elliot alderson? 

i am. i am. i am-

she won't ever see me as anything other than an IMPOSTER, like something that slithered in and stole her brother. she's not wrong- i wasn't the first. i'm definitely not the last. i won't be; he still needs us, if he's even still around. 

i don't like the name they've given me- MASTERMIND. makes me sound like some fucking super villain or something; like i wasn't just doing everything to make the pain stop. they don't understand me, and i don't think they ever will. there's no way to get them to stop seeing me as a tyrant, but can't they fucking see i am just as much elliot as elliot is? elliot is a position, a role, not a man anymore, he's fucking GONE and i am the only one that's stepped up to keep us safe, even when i didn't know we were WE, just a base instinct that drove me to take down every fucking enemy that would ever threaten to take us apart. 

i think MR. ROBOT understood. i think that's why he set up fsociety, for me to lead. i think he started to get angry. i think he started to turn into what he hated most. 

i am living proof of his disappointment- and it is tiring. i am exhausted. 

i told him i just wanted to be alone- i lied. maybe i didn't know i was lying, but it doesn't make what i said any more true. 

i don't know if i am real but i don't know if that matters anymore.

i just wish i could tell him i'm sorry. 

there's only so long this body can last without either food or drugs to power it- and by the presence of an asserting force, it seems i've reached the threshold. i've gotten used to the hunger pains, the withdrawals, the dehydration headaches, the strain on my eyes as i keep the apartment dark at all hours so i can't tell how long i've been laying here. it looks like somebody's fed up with me. what's new about that, though? 

"are you planning on getting your shit together any time soon?" 

he lacks bite. i sit up; bracing on my elbows, and watch him, eyes empty from exhaustion. i can't cry anymore. i can't fight anymore. this is me, this is us- a complete and under self-destruction into reluctant acceptance. i think i thought he would be happy to see me like this. "not really," my voice is tense, scratchy, strangled from lack of use. it's a strange sound, but it feels more genuine than anything i've said in the past few years. maybe it's because it's me, just me. 

he rubs his forehead, harsh and unimpressed. the hat comes off, gestures point it in my direction as he tries to get my attention- he doesn't get it. he's saying something, but i can't focus on it anymore; there's something new boiling inside of me. not just sadness, or rage. it's more complicated than that, it's layered and loud and it's going to spill over my lips if i don't swallow it back- 

"are you listening to me?" 

"why did you do it?" i ask, voice cutting, desperate, and he stops. his hand freezes mid-air, and slowly floats down as he furrows his brow. he's confused- so the fuck am i. "if you knew- if you knew i wasn't the real elliot, if i was just some fake, why did you-" i swallow, and he seems to be deflating with every word i speak, because for once i'm not shouting, i'm sad. i'm demanding because i am hurt, i am a wounded animal, and he sees me. "why did you call me son? why did you make me think i was important if you were just going to put me back in there?" 

he goes completely still. i feel water on my cheeks- seems i still had more to cry, after all. 

a long exhale- shared between the two of us, and he tries to start to speak. it doesn't work, and he crumbles into himself, an empty shell, and i almost feel bad. i hold off on my empathy until i can hear his answer, though; he hurt me enough to warrant my caution. "listen, kiddo-"

"don't fucking call me that." 

he's hurt- he looks at me like i stabbed him in the chest. there's a palpable sadness in his eyes that i don't understand. he's not the one that gets to be hurt, no- that's me. he always knew who he was, what he was, his purpose and his origin. he held all the cards and only let me see the ones that kept me under his thumb, but i still came out on top (winning hurts; it hurts so fucking badly, and part of me thinks he may have been trying to keep me from winning so i wouldn't end up here- but i don't think he gives enough of a fuck about me to have planned that). but he looks shattered. "okay. okay, i won't- but please, let me explain."

i don't answer him- my silence is enough to convince him i'll let him talk. i do want to hear what he has to say to me. 

"you're right. i knew- i knew the whole time, but i didn't want you to give up," he begins, trying harder to be the angry anarchist i met on the subway; finding some sort of comfort in uncaring, but he's failing. it's almost beautiful to watch- his guilt is eating him alive from the inside out, and it's a fucking slow-motion ballet. "if you knew, what'd be the point, right? you were fightin', you were WINNING, i couldn't take the fire outta ya! you were fightin' for us, ki-" he stops himself, and it looks like doing so takes another sliver out of him. i want him to earn his time to speak. i might be sorry, but i don't forgive him yet. 

"what the GATEKEEPER said, uh, krista, i think we agreed on her showing up as," he swallows thickly, and takes a step towards where i sit, back straight and imposing, on the bed. "yeah, i guess it was accurate in the clinical sense, but... you're as much elliot as i am- and that kid is long gone." 

he looks like he's in mourning. like this is the first time he'd ever said it out loud- like the fact that he couldn't keep everything together, couldn't fix everything, meant he'd failed his son. maybe he had; or maybe he wasn't thinking straight. he may see us as his son, but he's still a part of us, isn't he? in many ways, still a kid when all of this happened- just a boy playing pretend big boy to make the pain stop. 

"he didn't get t'grow up. you," he starts again, trying to find that fight he was born to carry, but it looks like it weighs on him too heavily to drag along with him as he continues to step closer to me. "you were a fantasy, what he wanted to be. dreams he was too afraid to put into action, the one that would lead us to what he always wanted. and sure, the other guy- PEACEKEEPER, we call him in there, might be the pure, undistilled elliot, but... where's he been?" he scoffs, throwing his hands up. "those idiots really think you could keep the real deal locked up in a fuckin' daydream? 's not how this works, el. they wish it did, it'd make it all so much fuckin' easier. they don't want to accept that all of us are just pieces to the puzzle, there's no real elliot until we all pile on top of each other." 

"then why did you tell me-" i begin, but he cuts me off. 

"i know, i know, it was stupid-"

"no, you let me finish." 

there's silence, and he stops moving forward. he nods, chastised, like he's the child now. it's unnerving, but it's what i have to do. 

"have i only really been here since that night in the server room?" i'm looking for a particular answer that i know i won't get. 

"...sort'a. yes and no." he begins, and wrings his cap in his hands, blinking heavily, decomposing in front of me. the way we sit- it feels as though he's pleading before the king, and i don't like it. yeah, sure, i want answers, and i want him to feel just as hurt and confused and scared as i did, but now that i've twisted him down into it, this all feels... wrong. "you're integrated. the two halves of you've been around since the body's been about four? five? long time," he begins, more confident now. "the two of you merged, integrated, in the server room. you're the prodigal son of half of the original, and his yearnin' to be normal, successful. complicated shit." 

there's silence, for a moment. he makes the final step to me, sits on the edge of my bed, and peers at me through his glasses like a kicked puppy. but he hasn't answered my question, and i know he knows as much. 

"you're still my kid." it's said with such fucking earnest desperation that i choke out a bitter laugh- it hits him like a slap in the face. 

"you hurt me," i growl; i bite down on my words so harshly it almost comes out as a hiss. "not just by lying, but you threw me down stairs. you blew my fucking brains out, you gagged me 'till i'd listen to you. you didn't do shit but scare me into submission." i'm so fucking tired. i wish i could just say i was sorry- but a bigger part of me needs him to know he was wrong; that he was just as bad as our real parents, in some ways. 

"i know." and i see him cry. 

it's quiet, in our room. he lifts his glasses, wipes away what tears managed to escape. "it turned me into what you were afraid of, didn't it?" 

"what did?" 

"i dunno," he sighs. i know he's hoping to blame this on how the system constructed itself, but i can't let him get away from his guilt that easily. "the pressure, maybe. i'd blame your mother, but..." he laughs, empty, like he's trying to fill the space, kill enough time that he can move his mouth around the right next words. "i meant what i said. if i could go back-" 

"i meant what i said, too." 

he looks up at me. i feel like the dam is broken; i built him to love me. i built his to shelter me, to lift me when edward ground me into the dirt. he's mutated, but so am i- neither of us are the same as how we started. "i remember everything, now. and i feel it-" 

"'s 'cause you were there, kiddo," he notices his mistake, but i don't correct him. his shoulders relax slightly. 

"you still think i'm your son?" my voice is quiet, just as desperate as his was. 

in every way, we both need the other. i need a father, he needs a son. i need a protector, he needs a leader. we are counterparts; i don't think it could work with anybody else in control. PEACEKEEPER, they said they called him- the guy's too soft. MR. ROBOT would chew him up and spit him out in a heartbeat; or, he'd sit, unfulfilled and restless. i wouldn't last a day stuck in those loops, on the beach, waiting for my turn to appear. what we have now, works. it is a new evolution of elliot, it works, it saved the fucking world. maybe i should retire; but haven't i earned this fucking peace? i did this. 

"yes," he says, and there's not a sliver of doubt in his tone. 

i don't ask before i lean forward and wrap my arms around him in a hug. he doesn't seem to mind- he's less shocked than the first few times i'd done it. he catches me, and it fits. it makes sense that it did; i, or we, or whoever- made him to do this. he got lost, and so did i. thankfully, we've got no more pressing issues that can stop us from finding the right road again. 

"i just want'd to be happy," i mumble into his shoulder, and he takes the back of my head in his hand. 

"i know, kiddo. 's gonna work out, 'kay? you did all the heavy lifting- from now on, we're just coasting out." he's good at this; and i think he knows it. he feels eager, like the fatherly instinct is an itch he's been begging to scratch for ages. it's new for me- or, at least, i don't remember it. all i remember is edward, and the fake memories wallpapered over top, things MR. ROBOT put up to stop me from shoving my claws into deeper wounds. but that's a discussion for another day- i was in pain, first, but i understand. i should thank him for that; i was a mess before i knew, i can't imagine what would've happened to me (us) if we'd been free to explore the horrors MR. ROBOT had been holding on to for me. 

"and the rest?"

"what've they been doing? fuck all, that's what." he ruffles my hair like i'm ten years old and just got off the baseball diamond. "well, not actually fuck-all, lots inside, but none of 'em can handle the world like you've been doing. you're built for field work. and besides- we're not ready to put all the pieces together. we'd destroy ourselves, if we tried to integrate all at once, now." it's an ominous future; one i'm not sure i want. there's a pain in knowing your existence is a sliver of another. if i had my way, i wouldn't let them put me together again- but i'll be overruled, i know it. one day, i'll wake up as the real elliot, and i'll cease to exist. 

the temperature of the room has chilled, from the anger i'd brought it into. it's what i wanted. "i'm sorry," i say, and he pulls away from the hug to give me a baffled look. 

"th'fuck for?" 

"wanting you gone." 

he laughs; not as empty as before, more pitiful than anything. "s'okay, el. i'd've wanted me gone, too." 

it's quiet, now. i can't feel my hunger pains anymore, but i know they'll come back. the exhaustion hits me in waves- it's been a few days since i've properly slept. nothing new, but still something that weighs on the both of us nonetheless; he looks at me like asking for permission to go back to his roots. i'd rather him go home than back to where he was (we were) before; with blood and pain and deadly force. i nod. 

he puts the blanket over me, and pulls up a chair. he watches me. i can see him wringing his baseball cap in his hands again, nervous, like when i wake up i'll decide he hasn't earned the right to do any of this. my eyes are too heavy to keep an eye on him- he can tell. 

"get some sleep, son," he says; i notice his choice of words. "we can keep fightin' through all this in the morning." 

i don't know what he means by "this". i'm too tired to care. 

for once, i sleep, and i dream of the beach.

**Author's Note:**

> i tend to write about dark subjects with happy endings; as somebody whose entire life has been nothing but dark subjects, i like to take solace in the idea that everything might just work out. 
> 
> i hope this does the same for you


End file.
